


It's All Over Now

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Blood, But Mostly Hurt, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kanan needs a hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, sorry kanan, this is relatively graphic, you probably shouldn't read this if you're triggered by anything there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 10:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Kanan is having a hard time coping with the loss of his sight.





	It's All Over Now

Kanan shut the door to his quarters and leaned back, resting his face in his hands. He let out a shuddering breath. 

_ It's over.  _

His fingers brushed along the wall as he walked slowly over to the simple bed in the corner of the room. With trembling hands he reached for a bottle of strong-smelling alcohol on his nightstand and took a long drink, hoping that it would calm his nerves. He unwrapped the bandages covering his eyes before letting his hands fall limp in his lap. He couldn't find the willpower to replace them. 

The ship was silent, the lights dimmed for the night cycle; Hera was in the cockpit, tinkering with the environmental controls, and the others had been asleep for some time. They'd been avoiding him since he lost his sight—Ezra especially—but Kanan didn't blame them. He knew that it must be hard, looking at his face and seeing a permanent reminder of that disastrous mission. It was lucky, he supposed, that he didn't have to see it.

He went to reach under his pillow, to do what he'd retreated to his room to do, but paused as a wave of guilt washed over him.  _ What will they think? What will Ezra think? _ The worst part was, he knew: Ezra would blame himself, like he did for the accident, but he would move past it. Kanan wouldn't. 

He retrieved a small industrial razor stolen from the Ghost's spare parts and ran his finger lightly along the edge to test the sharpness. It pulled at his skin, leaving a thin, bloodless mark. Satisfied with the sensation, he listened for a moment to make sure no one was coming, then took another swig from the bottle, reveling in the burning it caused, and rolled up his sleeve. 

He brushed his fingers against his wrist, feeling the raised scars stretching across his skin. Similar marks criss-crossed his stomach and thighs. He was almost glad to never have to see them again; he had never been able to shake the feeling that the Jedi would be ashamed of him if they knew, if they were here. They'd be horrified to know that he had so much pain and self-loathing in his heart that he felt the need to cut at all the skin he could reach. It was the opposite of what they taught—but then, he had never finished learning. 

He ran the razor along his wrist, slowly, unflinchingly, focusing purposefully on the sensation. The pain washed over him in waves, pulsing with his heartbeat, driving the thoughts from his mind and overwhelming his senses. He inhaled sharply, almost short of breath as he felt blood well up. Vicious satisfaction flooded him.

With gritted teeth he sliced in again and again, eyes watering as he went back over the open wounds. He was unable to suppress an involuntary whimper of pain, but he didn't stop. It felt good. 

He set the razor down on the nightstand and carefully touched his arm, exploring the wounds. Gashes spanned the length of his forearm; there was little skin left untouched. When he removed his hand and rubbed his fingers together, they were slick with blood. 

_ I guess I got a little carried away _ , Kanan thought reproachfully, without any real remorse. He wiped his fingers on the back of his arm and rolled up his right sleeve, taking the razor in his other hand. 

Minutes later, he found himself with both wrists covered in blood, starting to shake as the reality of the situation set in. But it was too late to go back now, he supposed. A tear fell from his cheek, burning where it hit an open wound. 

He wanted more. 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Kanan placed the blade firmly against his forearm and sliced straight across. He stifled a gasp at the pain, sharp and all-consuming, and when it faded he felt blood welling at an alarming rate until it spilled down his arm and onto the bare floor. The occasional dripping as he paused, breaths coming shaky and fast, seemed almost threatening to him. 

It occurred to him that he might have gone too far this time. He was really bleeding; he must have hit something important. Fear flooded through him—and then the thought slithered into his head:  _ do it again. Finish it.  _

Kanan hesitated. He realized his resolve was slipping, he wanted to do it. He wanted it all to end. It was already mostly over—he had so little left to lose. He couldn't count the number of times he'd tried to justify his own life and failed. 

Before he could talk himself down, Kanan pressed the razor high on his wrist and ran it across as quickly as he could. Agonizing pain shot through his arm, so blinding in its intensity that he curled in on himself and waited for it to subside. It was like his body knew he was in trouble, as the pain barely faded enough for him to feel the fresh gushing of blood. A groan escaped him, instinctive panic gripping his chest. 

He froze, listening for movement in the hallway, and only relaxed when he heard Hera drop a tool in the cockpit. Suddenly he felt tears spring up all over again. He felt horrible doing this to his family. They would want him to get better—they would want to help him get better—and he was throwing it away. 

_ How could you ever hurt them like this? _ Kanan demanded of himself.  _ You can't even keep it together for their sakes. What kind of  _ Jedi  _ are you?  _

He slammed the blade down on the nightstand, anger and guilt and shame surging through him. The world had fallen apart around him all over again. 

_ Again _ . A bitter laugh escaped him. There was always something to go wrong, something to take away. He had finally learned that. There would always be something else for the universe to take from him, and it had never hesitated before. 

Well, it didn't seem to want his life, anything but that.  _ That makes two of us _ , he thought, and then was hit again by a wave of guilt. Then he laughed at himself for feeling guilty, because there wasn't much he could do now. And maybe it was the violent cocktail of emotions he kept cycling through, or the blood dripping rapidly from his arm, but something in his chest seemed to unlock and he found himself with his face buried in his hands, sobs wracking his body.

He didn't hear as quiet footsteps approached his door and stopped. 

"Kanan?" Hera called softly. 

Kanan couldn't bring himself to respond, even to say she shouldn't come in; he didn't want her to hear his voice shake. 

The door slid open, and Hera poked her head in. She opened her mouth to ask a question but stopped when she saw him, curled in a sitting position on his bed, head hidden behind his arms. After a moment of indecision she stepped into his quarters, keeping a respectful distance. 

"Kanan? Are you alright?" she asked. 

He hesitated for several long seconds before shaking his head without looking up. He felt her concern bleed into the Force. 

She walked up to him slowly, eyes wandering from the bottle and razor on the nightstand to the blood on the floor. "What is it?" Her voice quivered imperceptibly. 

Kanan felt her hand on his shoulder and tears welled in his eyes again. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Hera, I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely. 

Hera sat down next to him, hand sliding down his back. "Hey, you're scaring me," she murmured. "What's wrong?"

He took a moment to collect himself, and rather than try to speak he lowered his arms from his face and let them rest exposed in his lap, head turned away to avoid her gaze. 

She inhaled sharply. "Kanan…" she breathed, carefully moving to examine the cuts on his left arm. Many had closed over already, but a few had gone deeper and were still bleeding profusely, pulsing with his heartbeat. 

Kanan was trembling under her hands, ever so slightly. She wasn't sure whether it was from fear or blood loss. He needed to talk, clearly, but she knew it would have to wait until she was sure he wouldn't bleed out. 

"I think this is serious," she told him. He glanced in her direction. "Will you be alright while I get a medpac?"

"Yes." Kanan sniffed. "Yes."

"Promise?"

He looked up towards her with his scarred eyes, having retained the habit even though he couldn't see her, and nodded. Hera studied his face for a moment and hoped to the Force he wasn't lying, before standing to leave the room, pausing to brush her fingers gently along his cheek. The door shut behind her automatically, and the fear she'd been hiding suddenly showed on her face. 

She half-walked, half-ran to the storage closet near the cargo bay and pulled out the Imperial medpac they'd acquired a while back. Careful not to wake the others, she hurried back to Kanan's room and let herself in. When she arrived, he was no longer crying; he faced the door but she could tell his attention was not on her, or anything else. His face held no trace of emotion, his gaze, usually focused even while sightless, was blank. In a strange way, Hera worried more for him in this state than his last. 

She sat on the floor in front of him and began digging through the medpac. "Alright, everything's going to be okay. Okay?"

Kanan looked down again. "I'm fine." His voice was monotone, contrasting eerily to the raw emotion it had held moments ago. 

"You're not fine, in any sense. I think you may have nicked an artery."

A moment of silence, and then a soft, "Ah."

Hera found a container of Coagulin and broke the seal. She used a swab to gently dab the powder on the worst of his wounds, then waited for a few moments to make sure they stopped bleeding. It occurred to her that, had she not found him, he probably would have just let himself bleed. From the amount of blood on the floor at his feet… she didn't dare think what might have happened. She didn't dare think that he might have been aiming for just that. 

"Did you… clean the razor first?" she asked, nodding at it lying on his nightstand before she remembered he wouldn't see it. 

"Yes," Kanan replied. 

"I'm going to disinfect them anyway."

She retrieved a bottle of disinfectant spray from the pack and shook it well before giving his arms a generous spray-down. He flinched away at the sudden sting and then appeared to relax into it, but he seemed to be paying more attention to what she was doing afterwards. 

Once the spray had dried, Hera spread bacta salve on the wounds, as gently as she could. She could tell it still hurt, though, and she felt sorry for putting him through more pain. Once the bacta started working, he would feel better. She finished by wrapping his forearms in bandages to keep the salve in and bacteria out, though she couldn't cover the smaller nicks on the backs of his hands. 

"All done," she sighed, only then growing aware of the tension in her body and her racing heart. 

"Thank you," Kanan said quietly, though he didn't sound quite grateful. He ran his fingers over the bandages, feeling Hera's handiwork. 

Hera pulled herself up onto the bed with a weary sigh. She rested her head on Kanan's shoulder for a long moment, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, before finding the will to speak. 

"I'm sorry you feel like this," she murmured. "I'm sorry about your sight."

Kanan shook his head. "Don't be. It wasn't your fault."

She sat up to face him. "It wasn't yours either. Don't blame yourself for what happened. Any of it."

"I know that, but… it feels like it is. It always does. And–" he swallowed hard, "and what does it matter? Ahsoka's gone." He shut his eyes, as if trying to block out the memory. "One less Jedi in the galaxy."

_ Almost two, _ Hera thought. "This isn't just about Ahsoka."

"No." Kanan wrung his hands together. "I put Ezra in danger. He could have died, because of me."

"You could have died!" Hera exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Kanan, but you could have died just now. What if I hadn't come, and you just bled out in your own quarters? How do you think Ezra would feel then?"

Kanan looked away sharply. 

She took a deep breath, trying for a calmer approach. "I’m sorry. All this… reminds you of when the Jedi were killed, doesn't it?"

He hesitated. His lip quivered; he nodded and leaned his head in his hands, hiding his eyes. 

Hera's own eyes started to sting. "How can I help? What can I do?"

Kanan sniffed. "I don't–" His voice broke. "I don't know. I don't know."

She gently guided one of his hands away from his face and held it in both of hers, watching as she massaged circles around the little cuts. The whole situation still hadn't quite hit her yet; it wasn't the first time she'd helped him with his injuries, self-inflicted or otherwise, but she'd never seen him like this. She was scared for him. 

Neither spoke for a long moment. Hera could hear the internal workings of the ship over Kanan's muffled crying. He hated being vulnerable in front of other people, even her, and she knew he was even more uncomfortable now that he couldn't see her or judge her reactions in the same way. She would leave him be, if he so asked, but…

She took a deep, steadying breath before she could bring herself to speak. "Kanan, were you– did– did you mean to cut so deep?"

Kanan stiffened. She could feel his mind working to form an answer, and though his mouth opened several times as if to speak, he said nothing. Her heart fell more every second he was silent. 

"You can tell me," she whispered, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Please, just tell me–"

"Yes," he choked out. "Yes. I tried– I just wanted–" 

Hera pulled him into a crushing embrace and he returned it, tucking his face into the crook of her neck.

_ Kanan tried to kill himself.  _

She held onto him for a long time, tears running down her face as he sobbed into her shoulder. She felt utterly useless, knowing there was nothing she could do to truly help him. He had just lost one of his last connections to the Jedi, and she knew he worried about how well he'd be able to fight now. The Rebellion and the Jedi: two of the most important aspects of his life, and both had just been dealt a mortal blow in his mind. Like he didn't have enough to deal with regarding the former. What could she do to even begin to help him work through it all? 

She never wanted him to sit in his quarters, alone and in pain and  _ dying _ , ever again. Of that she was sure. 

"I'm sorry, Hera," Kanan said suddenly, at barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry. I should never have–"

"Kanan, stop," she interrupted, letting go to look at him. "You don't have to apologize. I just wish you would have come told me. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Yeah, I know. I know. I just–" he sniffed. "I was scared. I thought you'd be mad, because I have Ezra and Sabine and everyone to take care of and there's the Rebellion, and how could I just leave that behind? But Hera…" He took a shaky breath. "I'm just so tired of feeling this way all the time. I can't take it. I just wanted it to stop."

Hera hugged him again, tender, almost solemn this time. "I'll never be mad at you for needing help, alright? We'll get through this, Kanan, I promise. Okay? We're all here for you."

He nodded repeatedly. "Okay."

They parted, Hera's hand lingering on the back of Kanan's neck. 

"You should get some rest," she said, the back of her hand skimming his cheek as she got up to leave. "I'll leave you alone. I'll come back in the morning to check your bandages, and–"

"Wait." He put his hand on her arm. "Would you stay? Please."

Surprise showed on her face. She'd expected him to want some privacy after being interrupted in an attempt, although she'd had her reservations about leaving him alone. Relieved, she waved him over near the wall. "Only if you move over," she teased. 

Kanan smiled weakly, and moved to make room for her in the bed. Hera kicked her boots off and settled under the blankets facing away from him. He draped a bandaged arm carefully over her body and she took hold of his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

"I love you," she murmured. "You know that?"

"I know."


End file.
